


write it in the sky

by zenamored



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Best Friends to Lovers, Canon-Compliant, Fluff, M/M, and extensive commentary on how wonderful zayn is, brief appearances from the other band members!, feat. pining donut liam, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-20
Updated: 2014-07-20
Packaged: 2018-02-09 17:51:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,441
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1992177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/zenamored/pseuds/zenamored
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Liam and Zayn and casual kisses between best friends. It isn’t supposed to mean anything else until one day it does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	write it in the sky

**Author's Note:**

> horribly schmoopy, self-indulgent, borderline ridiculous fluff. proceed with caution.
> 
> (also no girlfriends in this story because things got way too complicated. forgive me.)
> 
> title from the kina grannis song of the same name purely because it was next on my spotify playlist.

 

The first time was an accident. 

Liam has Zayn pinned to the floor and they’re giggling like five year olds as Zayn tries to flip them over so he has the upper hand again. He’s mostly unsuccessful considering the fact that Liam has his wrists pinned to the ground and all Zayn’s managed to do is flop around uselessly and wriggle against him.  

Probability-wise, it’s probably shouldn’t be surprising. There’s only so much thrashing around they can do in close proximity without _some_ part of their faces connecting. This time, the respective body parts just happen to be their lips.

It’s just a peck—a second at most—but Liam freezes all the same and rolls off of him, releasing his wrists. A glance over at Zayn shows the boy gasping for air next to him, face carefully blank as he stares at the ceiling.

A millisecond later he looks over at Liam and his face softens, eyes crinkling as he reaches over and tries to smooth out what are probably wrinkles in Liam’s forehead.

“Aw, babe,” he croons mockingly, and Liam starts cackling, the awkward stillness that had come over them quickly dissipating.

 

 -

 

It starts becoming a _thing_.

And Liam knows friendly kissing is totally a band thing too—he lost count of the number of times Louis and Harry and Niall have jumped on him to deliver a slobbery peck to his cheek or the back of his neck. But strangely enough, he tends to remember the ones from Zayn the most clearly. He can catalogue every moment Zayn’s lips have touched any part of his body.

Okay. It’s just—

Zayn’s kisses aren’t slobbery at all—they feel quite nice, actually.

And Zayn’s kisses _linger_ , that’s the thing. Maybe it’s the way he cups the back of Liam’s head (or whatever body part he happens to be kissing) so gently, fingers pressing into the skin like a validation— _hey babe, I’m here._

It just makes him feel so lovely and privileged, being on the receiving end of Zayn Malik’s brand of affection.

 

-

 

He’s sat on the couch on the bus and eating a bag of crisps, going over their last performance and debating whether he should run through his parts one last time when Zayn ambles in, eyes zeroing in on the crinkled plastic in Liam’s hand.

“Is that the last bag?”

“Not for you,” he smirks, taking a crisp and exaggeratedly popping it in his mouth.

Zayn squawks and throws himself on the couch next to him, arm settling over Liam’s shoulders.

“ _Please,_ _Leeyum_ , _please_ ” he whines, batting his eyelashes and drawing out the vowels obnoxiously toward the end.

Liam giggles, ends up handing over the bag.

Zayn’s eyes slant in glee and he pops a few crisps in his mouth before tilting the bag back toward Liam in an unspoken _we’ll share._ When they’re done Liam’s rewarded with a quick smooch. In any other circumstance he’d be annoyed by the bits left on his cheek but this is Zayn and even though it’s theoretically been a short amount of time since they met it feels like they’ve known each other forever.

In the grand scheme of things, a few crumbs are nothing.

 

-

 

They film for the _Kiss You_ video, and Liam still sort of can’t believe that this is his life—being able to mess around with the lads in front of a camera for his _job_.

But there’s a point when Harry’s straddling a motorcycle behind Zayn and keeps giving him these little pecks on the cheek, face dimpling into this smug little smile afterward.

After about the third time Liam’s thinking that they probably have enough footage of that by now.

_“That’s quite enough.”_

And okay, that might have come out a bit louder than he intended it to be.

Everybody looks at him in surprise and Liam flushes—determinedly doesn’t look in Zayn’s direction. “I mean—well—let’s focus on that other bit from before—”

“You heard the man,” Louis interrupts loudly, and (despite the fact that he looks half-amused, half-exasperated at Liam’s stuttering) Liam could hug him. Or make him a _thank you_ cuppa later. Or whatever. Thank God for Louis.

He doesn’t really know what happened, honestly. Zayn admittedly _is_ very kissable. He can’t really blame Harry for taking that opportunity—

Everything is a blur of motion again, people hustling back to work as the music starts over in the background. Liam grimaces apologetically at Harry, who just smirks at him. He feels a hand at the back of his neck and turns to Zayn (he just _knew_ it was Zayn, okay?) who’s looking at him questioningly.

_You alright?_

He doesn’t even have to say it out loud.

Liam nods. Lets his smile stretch a bit wider across his face because he doesn’t want Zayn to think he’s upset with him because, like, he doesn’t even think it’s possible to ever feel like that with Zayn. Ever.

Zayn doesn’t look entirely convinced but he smiles back anyway and Liam’s neck tingles from where Zayn’s thumb is unconsciously stroking the back of it, comforting.

Everything’s all right.

 

-

 

After the Staples Center concert Liam corners Zayn backstage. He’s still sopping wet and keyed up from the stage lights and screams of the crowd. He’s so jumpy from the excess energy that he doesn’t really register the words coming out of him but Zayn looks amused, at least.

“Love you, man,” spills from his mouth and Zayn’s face practically _blooms_ with his smile.

“Love you too, Leeyum.”

This is hardly new. It happens all the time, when Liam’s constantly overwhelmed by how _lucky_ he is, being able to perform across whole countries with Zayn and the rest of the lads, being able to share this with all of them.

He leans over, a bit punch drunk from the stage adrenaline, and aims a kiss toward Zayn’s cheek that actually ends up being just shy of the corner of his mouth—a mouth that curls upward in a fond smile immediately after.

Just then someone yells at them (probably Paul) about having to rush to the bus and they all have a mad race toward the aforementioned vehicles.

Liam’s ready for the after party, ready to work off the post-concert adrenaline with some bout of craziness.

But he’s also ready for the bit after all of that, where he can sit with Zayn and just talk with him—be with each other the way they have from the beginning. Zayn’s always been there, always been willing to just _be_ there with Liam even after he’s worked off his energy and is distinctly less exciting.

Maybe after all of this they can have a bit of a cuddle too. He’d quite like that.

 

-

 

They’re huddled in the back of the van sleepily, heads tilted together as Kendrick blasts into Liam’s left ear and Zayn’s right, Liam’s arm slung around a very pliant Zayn.

“What a tune,” Liam quips. He feels more than hears Zayn’s hum of agreement. He scooches into a more comfortable position and slips down to tuck his nose into the skin of one bony shoulder as the van bumps across the intersection.  Zayn smells really good.

His lips brush briefly against the snake inked into his skin and he smiles sleepily.

“For fuck’s sake,” Louis whispers.

Harry’s _shushing_ noises and Niall cackling quietly are the last things Liam registers before drifting off.

 

-

 

To put it delicately, Liam and Twitter don’t exactly have the best relationship.

Sometimes he gets a _bit_ annoyed ( _more like stark raving mad_ , says a voice in his head that sounds suspiciously like Louis) because despite scrolling past loads of praise there’s always that one comment or news article that sets him off. And sometimes he just wants to clear things up. He's not the best with words. That combined with the fact that he has a few million people who follow him on social media often leads to some nasty situations. 

More often than not he completely ignores Louis and Niall’s warnings to not google himself or look at his mentions on Twitter. It’s hard. This is one of those times. 

To his credit, Zayn only looks thrown off for a few seconds when he walks into the room and sees Liam glaring down at the phone in danger of being crushed between his shaking fingers. Exasperated, he plops down into Liam’s lap, effectively startling him and most importantly causing him to let go of his phone in favor of placing steadying hands around Zayn’s hips.

“ _Leeyum_ —”

“No, Zayn.” He’s still tense beneath him.

“No, Liam,” Zayn parrots gently back at him, pushing him back into the cushions. “Tell me about it later, yeah? Ride it out.”

“But—“

He cuts off as Zayn leans in and starts peppering these tender little kisses down his bicep, lashes devastatingly long as he glances up calmly at him.  Arousal spikes through Liam’s body, sharp and sudden and definitely _not appropriate right now, wow_. _Self-control, Liam._

“Lashing out at them isn’t going to help,” Zayn says quietly, and Liam starts guiltily back to the present. “Sometimes it takes more strength to not like, let the shit that other people say about you get to your head.“

He finishes with one last press of his lips against firm muscle. “Can you do that for me, babe? Be strong for me?”

And really, has Liam been able to deny Zayn anything?

It takes a few extra minutes of coaxing, but Liam knows when he’s beaten and melts into the cushions, iPhone thrown by Zayn across the couch and out of harm’s way. Zayn has this nasty habit of retreating, avoiding problems (and sometimes _everything_ ) like the plague, but occasionally—like right now—it feels like the most appropriate thing to do.

 

-

 

Liam realizes he’s in love with Zayn during breakfast one morning. 

Because, like, he’s noticing that they’re running quite low on Weetabix and he’s seen how many boxes of them Zayn goes through every tour and he wonders if he can manage to get some before Zayn wakes up and when exactly did everything around him start reminding him of Zayn? 

_Oh._

“How long have I fancied Zayn?” he asks no one in particular. 

Nobody seems particularly fazed by his question and his eyes feel like they’re busting from their sockets with that realization— _oh_.

“Ever since you met him,” Louis says. “About fucking time you realized.”

Harry doesn’t even look up from his text as he hums in agreement and Niall just laughs wildly like he does fifty percent of the time after Louis says something. Even Paddy sighs, hanging his head in exasperation.

Liam needs new mates.

All in all it’s not exactly the best moment for Zayn to stumble into the room but it happens anyway.

And wow, Liam’s always known that Zayn was attractive—he’s sure every human being with functioning eyes agrees with him—but he never fully appreciated just how _beautiful_ Zayn is, especially now when his hair’s floppy and he’s still soft and sleep-worn, eyes half-lid as he surveys the room. He smiles blearily at Liam and it’s like a punch in the gut—in a good way. Can you even be hit by the sheer force of someone’s attractiveness? Zayn apparently makes anything possible.

“Alright?” he asks warily, lips pursed as he takes in Liam’s stricken expression.

Liam sort of wants those lips on his.

Fuck.

“I think I’m going to try meditation,” Harry offers thoughtfully, effectively breaking the tense silence.

Liam loves Harry. Harry can stay.

Zayn just shakes his head fondly, runs a hand through Harry’s curls as he walks over to where Liam’s standing.

“Morning, Li,” he murmurs, reaching out and pressing a sleepy kiss on the side of his head. It’s not meant to be romantic in the least—they do this all the time—but Liam’s heart quadruples in pace until it feels like it might burst from his chest.

He practically sprints from the room.

 

-

 

Zayn Malik is going to ruin him.

 

-

 

“Sick, Leeyum, _Sick!_ ”

Zayn’s grinning wildly at him onstage and Liam’s heart practically _soars_ with the praise. Which happens like, every time Zayn compliments him because it’s _Zayn,_ who’s so careful and humble and talented and should be the one bashfully accepting compliments instead.

Zayn, whose mouth feels _very, very_ close to his ear now, whose fingers are brushing soothingly across his upper arm as he whispers something about Louis ordering takeout later tonight and would Liam like to join them? His lips skim lightly over his ear—a teasing pressure against heated skin.

This is around the time Liam realizes he’s really, truly done for—because somebody telling him about fast food shouldn’t be this arousing. Maybe if it’s like, KFC or something but that’s beyond the point when Zayn’s pressed this closely to him. Zayn makes everything so damn _sexual_ sometimes and it’s giving him so much grief.

He thinks he manages to nod and smile, somehow. Zayn smiles toothily at him and walks away like he didn’t just make Liam question his entire existence.

 

-

 

Liam’s _so_ wasted.

He sort of doesn’t know how he got here and how he’s banging on Zayn’s giant metal door but he’s learned a long time ago to not question anything that involves Zayn.

The door swings open and Zayn’s staring, exasperated but fond like he seems to be fifty percent of the time. It smells like aerosol paint and there’s a disposable mask looped around his wrist.

“ _Zaaaaaaayn._ ”

 A sigh. 

“ _So sorry—“_

_“I know you like alone time—“_

_“Don’t wanna annoy—“_

He’s shushed gently, leaning heavily on Zayn as he’s led into the house and onto the couch.

“It’s fine, yeah? Could never annoy me, really.”

Liam smiles beatifically up at him, grabby hands pulling Zayn toward him. The small _oof_ of surprise he hears makes him feel like he did that with more force than usual but then he’s got a lapful of Zayn and everything else is irrelevant now. He wants to smell Zayn. So he does, nose brushing the juncture between neck and shoulder. Zayn giggles. 

He’s doesn’t really know how, but he somehow ends up mouthing at the same place, suckling gently, teeth scraping skin–the whole deal. Feels nice. Zayn’s nice. 

There’s a shocked intake of breath but before he gets to really acknowledge it Liam’s drowsiness finally catches up to him and he’s out like a light.

 

-

 

He wakes up with a grunt, feeling like his head’s been split open. He quickly downs the pills and glass of water left on the table by some kind, kind, soul and immediately falls asleep again. 

Hours later when he’s actually awake and lucid it takes him a minute to realize that he’s in Zayn’s house. Zayn? _Zayn_. Where’s Zayn?

Liam pads into the kitchen and finds his answer. Zayn’s sat at the table and staring soulfully into the distance in a way that Liam knows he’s practiced in the mirror and has probably become second nature at this point. He’s tracing absently at a dark bruise on his neck and— _what_. When did that happen?

Now it’s all Liam can see. He bats Zayn’s hand away and brushes over the mark, unconsciously pressing down on it.

He’s _totally_ thrown off by Zayn’s stifled, horribly concealed moan and—wow. Okay. His dick twitches in interest. _Mineminemine_ plays on repeat in his head, terrifyingly primal. This is not how he expected to start his morning but it’s more than welcome.

“Care to explain, babe?” Zayn’s large, luminous eyes are focused on his and everything’s starting to make a little more sense now.

“Did—I? Me?” His thumb brushes against the love bite again—he can’t help himself.

Zayn just nods. Well. Okay.

“I can explain?”

“Please.” 

Zayn’s as patient as he always is, bless him. He’s still and silent as Liam mentally collects himself. He can do this. What’s the best way—

“I love you—I’m in love with you.”

Okay. Never mind. Train wreck from the start. Can’t get any worse than this. Carry on. 

Ignoring the way Zayn’s sitting there, seemingly frozen (is he breathing?), he barrels on so he doesn’t lose his nerve. But the more he talks the easier it actually gets, really. It’s not like it’s a stranger—it’s _Zayn_. Someone he cares about deeply and who cares just as much about him (hopefully.) 

He briefly registers Zayn’s hand cupping his cheek, fingers dancing along scruff—tender, comforting, not judging at all—a physical affirmation that he’s _there_ for him, that he cares for him. Always has.

“Think I have since the beginning of all this and—I. I just want to _be_ with you, right now, tomorrow—just like, me and you. More than friends. All the time. So can we?”

It came out far less eloquently than he wanted to but he knows Zayn gets it. He’s so smart. He always understands Liam.

And he looks so _soft_ right now, hair fluffed around his head and smile completely taking over his face when Liam finally meets his eyes.

He gets his answer.

Zayn doesn’t need to say anything, technically. Because he’s been saying it for ages, in his own way, via sneaky smooches between best mates and reassuring arms slung over shoulders and post-show cuddles. 

Because he’s saying it now, as his hand cups the side of his neck, bringing him down for a real, very intentional kiss, thumb rubbing reassuring circles over his cheek.

It’s so easy. And he shouldn’t be surprised, because it’s always been like that, between the two of them. They’re still each other’s best mates, slotting comfortingly into each other’s lives. You and me. Liam and Zayn.

_“Love you, Leeyum.”_

 

-

 

Zayn Malik is going to ruin him.

Liam can’t take his eyes off of him—desperate and breathy and grinding down on his dick, mouth wet and open and obscene, the bruise on his neck stark against slick skin. Liam’s bruise. Liam’s Zayn. Incredible. 

He starts fucking up into him with sharp rolls of his hips, and Zayn practically _sobs_ , lashing dipping downward as he leans forward and brings their lips together, muffling a shattered sigh of content. Liam runs adoring hands down the smooth skin of his back, over his bum, back up again. They break the kiss, much to Liam’s displeasure, but it’s quickly made up for when he sees Zayn fall apart above him, jaw going slack. Fuck, that’s so hot. He’s so, so lovely.

Zayn’s a whimpering, oversensitive _mess_ as Liam continues fucking into him, chasing his own orgasm. One of his hands is caressing the back of Liam’s head, the other tenderly running down his chest as if he’s trying to ground himself. When Liam does fall over the edge with a broken cry it’s amazing and overwhelming and he knows for a fact that he’s horribly, desperately in love with the idiot on top of him.

Flipping them over, he presses his smile into Zayn’s neck, feeling a chin hook over his shoulder in response. They lie there for a while and breathe, together. He loves the way Zayn gets all pliant and warm and needy. He’s probably the only person in the world that can make Liam feel so vulnerable and powerful—simultaneously wrecking him and putting him back together in the span of a few seconds. 

Liam’s anything if not determined, though, wants to make Zayn feel even better than he makes Liam feel. He litters lazy kisses down Zayn’s body and giggles as he feels Zayn wriggle under him in glee. He places one last, smacking kiss on the sharp jut of Zayn’s hipbone and smirks, ready for another go.

They’re far from done.

 

-

 

Liam’s in another venue in another country, performing another sold-out show. He doesn’t think he’ll ever get used to it, to be honest. Doesn’t ever want to get used to it.

Zayn’s high note echoes beautifully over the stadium, making the screaming subside for a few seconds so they all can hear. Liam just shakes his head, amazed. He doesn’t think he’ll ever _not_ be amazed by him.

Liam blows him a kiss, tries to wink—Zayn pretends to swoon, eyes rolling back dramatically—before sharing a crinkly-eyed smile with him as he croons into the microphone. Incredible.

Liam loves him so much.

 

-

-

 

Arms slung around shoulders. Full-bodied post-show snuggles. Strong fingers, gentle presses. Skin on skin.

And kisses. All of the kisses.

These small declarations of love come easy to them—always have, since the beginning—but now they’ve never felt truer.

**Author's Note:**

> thanks for reading! 
> 
> [i'm also on tumblr ](http://www.zenamored.tumblr.com) if you can deal with me completely losing my chill over anything one direction-related. much love.


End file.
